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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26454262">Beauty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeptique/pseuds/skeptique'>skeptique</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Of Virtues [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Ficlet, Gen, Pre-Slash, posted on tumblr, you can read without reading previous parts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:54:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,506</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26454262</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeptique/pseuds/skeptique</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The walls of Draco Malfoy's Muggle apartment were bare and he needed to fix it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Of Virtues [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1844986</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Beauty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For reader G, who asked how Draco got all of his art in his Muggle flat in Iustitia &amp; Prudentia. It’s fairly standalone so you don’t have to read I&amp;P but I think it is lovely and complementary.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Draco took his rubbish to the bin in the back of the building, he had noticed there was a careful pile of things left outside, free to take. He had never seen such a thing in Wiltshire and in any case, it’s not like the family would have stopped on the roadside to look on a carriage ride. Malfoys picked up their second hand crap in expensive stores in Knockturn Alley by appointment as was proper.</p><p>And yet, here it was. A nightstand that looked to be made out of particle board and a wish, an absolutely filthy mattress, a muggle device he was sure was called a whirler that had metal teeth, several glass jars, a tatty grey lampshade without its lamp, a children’s painting on canvas and a single book.</p><p>The book looked clean enough, so once he had thrown in his refuse, he wiped his hands on a patch of grass and reached for it. Agatha Christie. He knew that one! They were mysteries and very popular with middle-aged people who came into the store. He liked the idea of having something on his walls, but the painting was sinister. He took the book.</p><p>In the beginning, Draco listened to Eustace intently. He would ask questions about people’s likes and dislikes, then sometimes whether they liked a particular genre and then would pop out with a book like Ollivander. People didn’t always love the book, but they found it interesting or challenging. Sometimes they would come back to talk to Eustace about it.</p><p>“Do you do the thing he does?” A customer asked. She was around his age, but he thought he could detect an accent. She had come in on a slow afternoon, after Eustace had gone to pick up his grandchildren from…something. Draco hadn’t been listening then. There was only so much his brain could process.</p><p>“You mean, recommend books? I can try,” Draco said. “What are you looking for?”</p><p>“Poetry. But modern, you know,” she said.</p><p>He was suddenly sure she spoke French, but he was probably too rusty to communicate well. He wasn’t sure he really liked poetry, but some had stuck out to him.</p><p>“Have you ever read Auden?” Draco asked. She said no and followed him to the poetry section. “Looks like we have one copy.” He handed it to her, and she flicked through. She also accepted the Langston Hughes book.</p><p>She came back at the same time of day about a month later with two friends.“I liked your recommendations,” she told him. “What about fiction?”</p><p>Draco loaded her up with three books and each of her friends with three books after asking a few questions. It wasn’t an exact science, and he was now familiar with books even if he hadn’t had the time to read them all.</p><p>“It’s getting to be quite busy here,” Eustace remarked. “Maybe you were right about the shelves.” Draco was getting out of the habit of gloating. He didn’t have time for it anyway, and Eustace hired Chike to help on weekdays.</p><p>“How do you do?” Draco said, shaking her hand.</p><p>“Posh cult you were in?” Chike said. She laughed a little at his expression. Eustace didn’t really ask for details. Chike was one of those people who just was endlessly curious. Draco had to work daily to remember what he actually couldn’t say around her, which was more than he was used to.</p><p>“You’re an artist,” Draco said abruptly one slow afternoon. Chike would sketch things all the time on napkins, the back of receipts, and on the signs for the store. A little cartoon girl waved from the children’s section.</p><p>“Yeah, kind of,” Chike said.</p><p>“Not kind of. You are an artist,” Draco said insistently. The evidence was all around them. Why was she being stubborn about it? Draco couldn’t do much beyond a botanical sketch and nothing he’d ever drawn looked as alive as the abstract patterns she’d drawn on the back of her own forearm in sharpie.</p><p>“Tell that to my mum.” She snorted.</p><p>“Can I pay you for something?” Draco said. “My place has nothing on the walls.”</p><p>Chike gave him a long, considering look. “Absolutely the fuck not. But we can go to Spitalfields on Saturday.”</p><p>True to her word, Chike showed up in front of his flat at ten am sharp.</p><p>“You don’t even own a hoodie, do you?” Chike said by way of greeting.</p><p>They made their way south into Central London. It was even busier than the places he had been in his neighbourhood and Draco found his attention darting all over the place. The Market wasn’t much better but by then, Draco had learned to focus more.</p><p>“I like this,” Chike said, looking at a sculpture of a woman lying down and weeping that could have fit in her palm. It was so exquisitely detailed. Draco checked the price and frowned. He couldn’t buy it for her. He wasn’t yet used to that feeling. He hoped it wasn’t all like that.</p><p>“What else do you like?” Draco asked.</p><p>Chike pointed things out. It turned out she liked everything from abstract paintings to mixed media modern sculptures (“That is not fucking art,” Draco whispered furiously. “It makes me angry to look at.” “Good! That reaction means it’s art!” said Chike.)</p><p>They left with three prints for Draco’s walls. Draco took her to his local, because it was the only place he ever ate out.</p><p>“The Prince has arrived!” One bartender shouted as he came through the door. Draco blushed.</p><p>“Will you fuck off?” He said, in his crispest accent. They smiled, and he smiled back.</p><p>When they finished their meals, Draco carefully counted out at least double the cost of the bill.</p><p>“Are you serious?” Chike said. “You know that’s twice what it cost.” Draco got up and left the pub and she followed.</p><p>“When I was a child, my father never tipped at restaurants. He said that if people — ” Draco cleared his throat. “If people wanted more money, they should make better choices.”</p><p>“Ah,” Chike said. “Fucking Tories.”</p><p>“Tories,” Draco agreed.</p><p>Draco decided to try to use the National Art Pass that had come in his welcome package. It took a month to get up the courage to brave transit again, but he made his way down to the Tate and he walked around. It wasn’t any different from Wizarding Museums except most things didn’t move but he…liked it. He took his time, spending the entire day wandering in and out of exhibitions. Draco even thought a few things might be Wizarding.</p><p>Draco bought five postcards to show Gabriel. Gabe had smiled and cast an engorgement charm with his wand until they were big enough to put up on the walls.</p><p>“I was just checking if the magic monitoring still worked,” Gabe said. But he left them gallery-sized.</p><p>Draco put them up alongside the prints he had bought with Chike. He even moved his favourite to his bedroom.</p><p>Draco still went to other museums in search of more art, but now he was conscious of the fact his walls weren’t bare. He looked at graffiti murals and small galleries and even tried one drawing class at the community centre.</p><p>It was at a small community exhibition Draco found himself staring at a photograph of a man cradling a ball of bright white light in his arms. The artist had probably made it with some muggle trickery. It reminded him of…well, he wasn’t sure, but he stared at it.</p><p>“The queer art exhibit is quite something, isn’t it?” A museum worker said. Their pin said Holly (they/them!) with a little rainbow beside it.</p><p>“The artists are from all over the world. Make sure you pop into the room on the end.”</p><p>Draco did. Someone had created a whole garden there, lush and green indoors. Instead of carved hippogriffs and nymphs like the Manor, the sculptures were all lovers. He stopped in front of two men entangled in a passionate embrace. Draco almost couldn’t believe it was marble, he could see the indents of the first lovers grip on the second’s hip. He was so overwhelmed with emotion he almost turned around and walked straight out of the building but he forced himself to take in every expression, every statue.</p><p>He had learned he couldn’t buy things like that. Muggle museums evidently did not work like the ones in the Wizarding World where anything could be bought for a high enough price. And his Galleons to pounds conversion skills were strong enough that he knew he was of significantly reduced means.</p><p>But Draco wanted, wanted so badly to have some piece of them. He went to the gift shop and bought two big coffee tables from artists in the exhibit, even though it would wipe out his takeaway coffee fund for a month and he definitely would not be getting any ready-made meals either.</p><p>His flat started to feel like a home, though.</p>
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